


Aches and Pains

by reinadefuego



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, loss of voice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 12:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinadefuego/pseuds/reinadefuego
Summary: Erik has lost his voice, temporarily at least. It would be sweet relief for the Persian if he wasn't also Erik's only friend.Written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo Round 8: Loss of Voice/Forced Silence.





	Aches and Pains

He struck the table with his fist, tears welling in his eyes squeezed shut so tight he could feel the pressure against his eyeballs. This sickness, this aching pain in his throat that seemed determine to stay and torment him, was driving him mad. Even Nadir, his friend, gentle and intelligent, had steeped pot upon pot of tea to no end. His throat was inflamed, the Persian explained. Erik could not sing, speak, or hum without feeling as if he were constantly swallowing tiny shards of glass.  
  
Each breath stung. Any attempts at consuming food left him frustrated and sore, and all he could do was wait. Wait for this vicious infection to pass, till the time came when he could return to the halls above and teach his angel.  
  
"You must drink, Erik," Nadir said, and set the steaming mug down in front of him, all the while praying to God in his mind that the man he'd come to know as a genius architect would soon be well enough to communicate without the need for a pen — or a lasso. "The honey will ease the pain, and the herbs will fight the infection."  
  
The brew smelt sweet enough, far better than that bitter swill Nadir had made him drink this morning. He slid it carefully towards him and took a sip, wincing each time he had to swallow. Erik glanced up at Nadir and sighed, shrugging his shoulders in a makeshift apology. He understood what it was like being sick, surely, or had God been far kinder to him over the years than Nadir let on?  
  
"And now to bed. Take your drink with you."  
  
Bed? No, he needed to finish Don Juan Triumphant. There was never enough time when composing a ballet. Erik shook his head and took another sip before he reached with one hand to tug his coat further over his chest. He hunched in the seat and refused to budge, ignorant of the spilt inkwell that had stained his last three days of work.  
  
"Do not make me get Mme. Giry."  
  
The fires of hell ignited in his eyes and Erik lifted his head to look at Nadir. Mme. Giry? No, never! He didn't need her false sympathies and sentiments of pity. He was not a creature to be pitied but one that demanded both respect and fear. His genius also deserved awe and admiration, but those had only come from the Shah of Persia; Nadir too, on the days he was feeling generous.  
  
Nadir sighed. Erik was as fickle as that woman he loathed, the one with the 'voice of a banshee' and who 'belonged in a soundproof box'. Eventually he'd have to find a middle ground, some way of bargaining with Erik that didn't involve the life of that 'ridiculous' viscount, but till then his friend would be like old moulding clay. He placed a hand on Erik's shoulder and squeezed gently, nudging him with his knee to stand. It seemed some things would require physical force. "Up."  
  
Erik rose from his chair slowly, the mug still in his hands and his coat hanging off him like he were merely a mannequin. If he could've spoken, he would've asked Nadir to rub his joints with scented oils and fetch more blankets. His sinuses were heavy and he'd been finding it increasingly harder to breathe via his nose since last night's dumping of snow. Perhaps even a back massage were in order, to clear his lungs of mucus.  
  
In an attempt to speak, he opened his mouth but quickly closed it when the pain became too intense. He pressed himself close to Nadir before they began to walk, head rested on Nadir's shoulder and his free hand grasped his right elbow gently.  
  
"I know, my friend" Nadir murmured, reaching up with one hand to stroke the thin layer of hair that still somehow clung to Erik's skull, "I know. Now will you do as I say and go back to bed? I'll move your coffin closer to the fire."  
  
He took a sip of his tea then gave a short high pitch groan in response.  
  
"Not  _that_  close, although it would be entertaining to see you slip your way out of it."  
  
A jab to the ribs communicated his thoughts clearly: Erik did not approve of his coffin being set on fire while he still inhabited it. Once he was dead, Nadir had allowance to do whatever he liked with the corpse he left behind, but his heart was still beating in his chest and air still miraculously filled his lungs.  
  
"Alright," Nadir said, earning another finger to the ribs. "If you stay in bed another two days, I'll see what I can do in the way of getting you to Box Five."


End file.
